


mud

by Belmont



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Quadrant Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belmont/pseuds/Belmont
Summary: Galekh commissions found-object art from the most boring [That's debatable.] troll that has possibly ever existed. [Except it all backfires, as per usual.]





	mud

**Author's Note:**

> I ship kismesis Tagora/Galekh but, bUT, I prefer there to be a less logical person to fill Gale's red quadrant and thus? I recruited my favorite garbage angel to fill the role for him. I'm kind of a sucker for the aesthetics of these two and there's no fics for them so I wordvommed this one out. The plot is just for sillies, and some of the terms are off/bullshitted so please don't read into this TOO hard (I have no beta reader, please forgive any grammatical slips.) 
> 
> They're both the troll equivalent of 19/20 years old here (pretty close to offworlding). This fic assumes the MC met them both prior. This fic also contains graphic descriptions of alien biology/copulation, so if two aliens fucking would make you uncomfortable I implore you to avoid reading further. 
> 
> Finally, I'd like to just preface this by saying Charun's my baby and I love them. Please protect them and give them worms so they stay happy and safe.

Whatever possessed them to bring themselves out into the blueblood sector had to have been otherworldly. They didn’t like to leave home willy-nilly; no, they never really saw the need to get away from their artwork, or their worms, and right now they kept mentally grumbling to just .. Go back home.. and forget about this…  
  
Their insides had another idea; following the wafting scent of coffee grinds and what seemed to be _smooth soothing relaxation work study jazz cafe piano tracks for background music_ on loop coming from a half-opened window- one of at least thirty windows- on this massive hive that belonged to a specific blueblood they’d messaged on one of their few public social media accounts.  
  
This particular indigo was some kind of scholar, or author, or whatever. He wasn’t as important as he could be, but he still held his own higher than most. It was his idea to reach out to Charun first and inquire about obtaining a ‘Unique abstract metallic alternative art piece’ for his respite block- to give it ‘flavor[1]’ which had apparently been defined as an arguably tasteful addition to a room which otherwise would be comprised of mostly script shelves and menial bookbinding equipment.   
  
They’d agreed because the proffered price was surprisingly steep. Usually, highbloods paid hefty for artwork created by other highbloods. This was, like, a once in a lifetime thing.  
  
They slapped their gloved hand against the hivedoor a few times, blinking slowly up at the wood when it seemed that nobody was coming to answer anytime soon. Charun sniffed the air again, watery eyes watching the opened window, before slapping a few more times.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Heaving a sigh, they pulled the brim of their hat down and grunted. They’d wasted all this energy walking all this way (no drones in sight on the way here, which was a lucky break) and now they’d need to waste all this energy getting back to their cave. Augh.  
  
Before they could turn away, though, there was a bleating sound from behind the door. The bleating was followed by the abrupt silencing of the soothing jazz loop and the growl of an angry, now-distracted blueblood who was shuffling toward the window to slam it closed.  
  
Charun squinted in confusion, poking their snaggletooth with their tongue. What the fuck was going on?  
  
The door opened suddenly, not too long after the ruckus, revealing a tall troll with thickly framed spectacles and cute little coniferae shaped horns. He was dressed smartly, and seemed quite a good deal bulkier than he looked in his tiny profile photo. In fact, the absolute look of unadulterated disgust on his face only added to the sheer magnitude of his presence before them. Boy oh boy, this big blue guy didn’t seem to remember the messages they’d exchanged at all.  
  
”.. Nice goat..” Charun’s peaceful, droning voice seemed to draw the lusus out further, they smiled watching it poke its head through the doorway before the blueblood grabbed hold of one of it’s horns.  
  
”I regret to inform you I don’t partake in charity. Please seek financial assistance elsewhere, or I’ll be forced to notify the culling drones of your coordinates. For your future reference, unsolicited panhandling, especially done by lower castes in the domain of higher castes, may result in extenuating circumstances [in example, the justification of such things as physical violence] that could effectively disrupt- if not end- one’s life. Patience and humility are not wildly common traits among the higher castes due to a myriad of social and economic privileges they’ve been afforded in comparison to lower castes, making them metaphorically blind to whatever plights you might face.” Pulling the goat back behind the door, he prepared to close it. “Good day.”  
  
”You commissioned me..” They pushed their hands between the doorframe and the door, shoveling their body in like a wedge. “You wanted… a found object thing.. Art for your respite block..”  
  
Abruptly, the pressure of the door vanished with a strangled sound of alarm from the bespectacled troll.  
  
“Oh, _dear_. I’d entirely forgotten about messaging you in regards to the art piece. You must be Carrots Cutjib? Was that your name? I’ve… augh, I should apologize- In the midst of working on a new chapter for an upcoming project and I simply became so absorbed in the research that I had all but forgotten about the discussion of the found art piece we’d intended to begin drafting conceptually. I recall you mentioned you dislike working over messenger, which I wholly understanding being an artist myself [albeit my art tends to be of a slightly different classification what with being literature, however I do dabble in illustration now and again to keep my muscle memory.] I sincerely hope you might forgive me, Carrots. An err of an overflowing thinkpan. Might I interest you in a caffeinated beverage? Please don’t hesitate to step inside.”  
  
The oliveblood scuffled into the foyer, crouching to let the goat bumble into their arms and smell them. It opened its mouth to test a few munches of their sunhat and hanky, but didn’t seem to be much interested in the taste. Maybe it was the dirt?  
  
”Do you like coffee? I’ve got a variety of authentic pre-ground beans with numerous degrees of roasting.” The yet-unnamed indigo said the words slowly, as if speaking to a nonverbal grub. “Alternatively; I can prepare you steeped leafjuice, or steeped leafjuice with shavings [freeze-dried, mind you, though you can select what offerings I have growing outside if you’d spotted something more in line with your preferences growing fresh out there]. Unfortunately as I previously mentioned, I did forget about our engagement and would’ve deliberately purchased something had I known the specificity of your tastes beforehand.”  
  
”… Can I try coffee..” Charun’s lip crinkled. “My name isn’t carrots.. it’s Charun… like... they sound kind of... similar.. do I call you.. by your username or…”  
  
”My apologies, Charun- and no, please call me Galekh.” The indigo temporarily vanished, leaving the shorter troll to take a brief sit on the carpet and reset their metaphorical equilibrium.  
  
When Galekh returned, holding two extremely small mugs between his thumb and forefinger (both decorated with ornate pinecone-like etchings in a deeper blue than indigo) he paused to stare at the oliveblood sitting on his floor. He took a deep breath, raising an eyebrow, and then approaching with one of the little mugs extended.  
  
”Are you in the midst of some kind of medical emergency?” Charun shook their head and took the mug, enjoying the way it squeaked audibly against their gloves. “…Tired from the walk…”  
  
”Ah, well. Perhaps you might fancy sitting upon a piece of furniture intended for respite after physical movement [I have various; chairs, ottomans, a sofa, a step stool even if you’re really interested in replicating the physicality and textural sensation of the floor.]”  
  
 “…Okay..” They shifted upwards, careful to keep the tiny mug close to their chest as they moved behind Galekh into a gated observatory-like room. The little gate closed behind them, and before they could even ask if it was some kind of bizarre commitment to the blueblood’s lowkey sadist tendencies the latter shook his head and showed them how to open the latch.  
  
”It’s solely to keep out my lusus. This room is effectively a bookhive- having a goat wandering about is extremely counterintuitive to the purpose of this room’s construction.”  
  
”Yea...  It’s kinda good..” The oliveblood smiled lopsidedly, and Galekh squinted. “ _Pardon_?”  
  
”…The bean water—“  
  
“ ** _Coffee_**. [Specifically what you’re drinking now would be considered espresso, though the brewing period was much shorter and thusly results in a more concentrated beverage without as much caffeine or other critical components defining traditionalist ‘coffee’ or ‘espresso’. This would redefine the beverage as a ristretto.]”  
  
“..Mm..”  
  
They gazed passively at each other in silence for a long handful of minutes before finally, the indigo took another one of his bizarrely deep contemplative breaths. “So, shall we begin discussion of this abstract art piece I intend for you to create and be subsequently reimbursed for?”  
  
Charun’s butt sunk into a nicely upholstered sofa while Galekh sat across from them in a high-back armchair. A few sheets of blank cardstock were procured from a nearby desk, along with a variety of drawing implements. Sipping more of the bean water, Charun’s eyes became lidded to the point of looking closed. They were then submerged in the deepest parts of the inspiration zone; their thinkpan was sifting through hundreds of pieces of known trash, including theoretical trash (the good shit only highbloods could throw out) to make the sickest, most fucking radical piece of shit this blueblood had ever seen in his cute little coffee flavored existence.  
  
Watching the other enter into a trance-like state of mental euphoria with a mildly perturbed and subtly fascinated expression, Galekh sipped his own coffee in awkward silence. Maybe he could’ve just… ordered a piece of art or something from that crazy cobalt blood troll with the copyright issues—ah, but that wouldn’t be unique, and Gor-Gor would eat his entire waste chute about having something legally unscrupulous in his respite block while they pailed.  
  
”…Oh.. _yeah_ , I got it… I _see_ it…”  
  
”What do you see?” The indigo casually inquired, watching the cardstock slide across the table along with a standard ballpoint writing implement. Charun was busy putting shapes onto the paper in some vaguely organized way. Initially it looked like some kind of seadweller’s lusus, then it looked like a warship, and finally it seemed they’d produced a diagram of sorts for the final piece.  
  
”It’s a tree.” The writer didn’t sound disappointed as much as he sounded confused. What was all the superfluous shit around the tree? Was it supposed to be metaphorical for something about his standing as a highblood? About his choice to become an author? How one word upon a page could blossom into a massive branching exodus? It dawned like the realization of ones mortality. Like the concept of nirvana, or whatever ‘clown church’ was supposed to do for the purplebloods. This twisting, ornately designed tree was something so deep and profound that Galekh could hardly keep himself from tearing up.  
  
His hand found their dirty glove, and he intertwined their fingers. “It’s _fantastic_. Charun, what inspired you?”  
  
They squeezed his fingers and smiled lazily. “… Thought about… them little horns… like, little trees… happy little trees made of.. garbage..”  
  
Oh.  
  
They held hands for a few more moments while Galekh considered how beneficial screaming would be, or if he should be this frustrated at all in regards to the words that’d just spilled out of the artist’s lopsided little mouth. Charun’s thumb affectionately squeaked along the knuckles of their blueblooded client; one eye blinking before the other. “…Something.. more complicated… it wouldn’t be good.. the vibe for a respite block.. should be peaceful..”   
  
”It’s a tree made of garbage.” His tongue wet his lips, as if the words alone put a foul taste upon his palette. “You intend to put a tree made of garbage in my respite block.”  
  
”… It’s your garbage tree dude.. nobody else will have one like it… I don’t usually .. plan my shit before I go and make it.. so it’s extra special..”  
  
”I’ll have to see the final product before I’m definitive on giving you the full disclosed amount of payment.” Galekh slid his hand back to his lap, looking mildly disdainful at the smears of dirt left on his skin after contact with the gardening glove. “You’ll be reimbursed for your time and travel expenses, however. I’ll give you 1/3rd of what we agreed upon today [This quantity won’t be adjusted based on the final product if I deem it to be of a lower value upon appraisal but, I will let you have it all because I’m still feeling bad about having forgotten we were meeting today].”  
  
Charun’s cheeks dimpled. So this would be like, a bonus.  
  
”Huh… deal..”  
  
[♥]  
  
A day or two later, Galekh’s palmhusk buzzed with a notification that Charun would be dropping by to deliver the trash tree to his home at a time of his convenience because **a**. the drones were hanging out near their cave and they wanted to move around to get them to go anywhere else and **b**. they raided a particularly gnarly pile of garbo on the way out of the blueblood sector and boy oh boy, this was one sick tree they had right here for the big blue.  
  
Inhaling through his nose, he messaged them that now was a fine time. His monetary stores were in well enough shape that the agreed upon price- should the ‘trash tree’ even be worth _that_ much- wouldn’t leave much of a dent.   
  
Opening the hive door to a grinning oliveblood, sheened with a particularly oily coating of sweat (or grease? Or some kind of defensive acidic fluid?) and clutching some huge covered object was almost enough to make Galekh reconsider the whole fiasco again. “You didn’t run here with the art piece, I suspect? In the case that you did, I’ll ask you to sit down for a moment and replenish your internal fluids, lest you have some kind of internal pressure related episode while returning to your hive.”  
  
”.. Uh, it’s ok.. I walked fast… I usually walk slow, but.. here’s the thing.. I’m excited for you to see... the trash tree..” Said tree was bundled in a massive canvas tarp underneath the shorter troll’s arm. Galekh made a mental note to wash the piece if he decided to keep it- something in him doubted that Charun cleaned the garbage they used before they smashed it all together.  
  
In the foyer, after Galekh penned his lusus in a safe space so as not to destroy the tree, it was finally revealed in a flourish with the tarp unceremoniously yanked from its metallic branches.  
  
Standing speechless for a few seconds, he removed his glasses and placed them back on repeatedly. Then finally, the specs were pushed up into his bangs as he crossed his arms and heaved a deep sigh. “Charun, it’s absolutely aesthetically beautiful, but it’s not at all like the tree you designed upon paper - is that a one-wheel device smashed under that hoofbeast feed crate?”  
  
”Yeah!! .. It’s... good right.. is it making you feel… peaceful..”  
  
”No. It’s more like evoking a sensation of distraction and disorder- a visual embodiment of controlled chaos and excess molded into the shape of something indigenous and natural to the planet symbolically used among those who have some connection with nature and the elements. Trees are historically used to illustrate growth and development which I believe in the case of this piece shows how the impact of certain cultural facets may alter our own organic mode of growth while still shaping us into something that can be interpreted as ‘wonderfully disordered.’ Something along those lines, though I’m no art critic I’ll admit that to you readily.”  
  
The oliveblood beamed at the description. Though there was one, minor issue that Galekh had overlooked as he walked around the piece- something that he suddenly took slight offense to.  
  
”Oh, hm. The **_bucket_** hanging from the branch there is simply in poor taste compared to the rest of the work. I’ll ask you to remove that before we finalize the sale. I’m willing to offer you the disclosed amount- are we still in agreement upon that? I’ll fetch my palmhusk and trollmo it over to you.”  
  
”…The bucket.. was actually for the.. payment… dude.. did you read.. the dms.. I sent you… like I… wasn’t dicking around I was serious..”  
  
”Excuse me?” Galekh pulled his glasses down so quickly they actually hurt the bridge of his nose. “We agreed on a monetary payment [Denoting digital transfer of an amount of monetary wealth in exchange for a single tangible piece of artwork].” _Oh for the love of all fuck_ , he thought, _I’m actually going to need Gor-Gor to get involved in this aren’t I? So much for trying to take the human’s advice and sailing off into the metaphorical sea without a paddle._  
  
Charun’s smile faded into a tight line with only their snaggletooth protruding cutely into their top lip. They snapped their palmhusk open after pulling it from the band of their cargo capris and scrolled about until the conversation regarding the art commission was on screen.  
  
Galekh’s face became decidedly less gray as he blanched. The words _‘…can I smash.._ ’ were somehow typed between the indigo’s lengthy posts about the intricacies of found art pieces and how he’d very much like to buy one and **_YES_** a custom commission was certainly priceless so he’d **pay however much it would** **take** to obtain something totally unique.  
  
”Mm. Well, hm. This is problematic. This is quite problematic, yes, but I can’t deny you a means of payment. No, certainly not, though it’s problematic to go about the _e%ecution_ of such a payment isn’t it?”  
  
An eyebrow quirked. “.. If your red quadrant is full... I’ll respect that… but I’m not asking.. for more than a happy little… hook up… for the happy little… trash tree…”  
  
”My quadrants are not up for discussion.” With one arm, he hoisted the tree up onto his shoulder and gestured to the discarded tarp. “Will you fold that up neatly? I’ll show you to my respite block and where you might become clean. That dirt caked on your… sweat [Unsure the nature of the substance, smells vaguely like olive oil though the scent’s underlying chemical components seem to denote something alarmingly sulphurous]… must be removed prior to any physical activities. Also, you might leave the bucket alongside the tarp- I have one we’ll be using [The one you’ve brought is too small, I won’t elaborate].”  
  
[♥]  
  
They cleaned up nicely, all things considered, and were seated on the cushioned bench by the largest window in the room. The towel was almost wide enough to obscure them entirely, but the strange way it tented due to their horns kept their face visible. Charun’s expression was the same old vaguely deadpan one (they weren’t totally happy with how the trash tree was placed in the darkest corner of the room… kinda ruins the whole purpose..); when Galekh returned from his own brief showering, the expression brightened just enough to make it obvious the shorter troll was pleased with their visual.  
  
Reflexively, the indigo tugged his own towel slightly higher up his hips. It was bad enough his black quadrant was filled with a notoriously crooked lawyer- hopefully his red would be spared from being filled by a [literal] garbage artist [with garbage being used here strictly to refer to the medium they favored].  
  
”How would you like to go about this? Preferably, in the least time-intensive way possible? I’m insinuating that the more impersonal this interaction will be, the easier it will be for u-“  
  
At some point in the midst of rambling, Charun had stood up from the window seat, discarded their towel and came to stand before Galekh with their hands resting on his lower arms. Glancing down at their fingers, he instantly noted they seemed to have some kind of tattooing on the knuckles. Huh, he’d never have seen that if they’d always kept their hands in gloves.  
  
The press of a chaste kiss to the skin of his chest made him sharply inhale, and Charun kept at it with little kisses like that- between his pectorals, over his vestigial grubscars, until his hand came up to nudge at their cheek. “Enough… enough of that [It’s embarrassing].”  
  
The tip of their tongue poked out from between their lips. “… Not embarrassing if you … like it.. it’s not good.. to be such… an uptight dude..” The kisses became open-mouthed laving; the flat of Charun’s tongue pressing into the divot between Galekh’s collarbones before they pursed their lips and wetly smooched the spot (getting down from being tip-toe, too—this fucker was tall).  
  
He’d braced himself against them using their upper arms as support, and at some point realized that all the attention to his neck and chest was resulting in a comfortably familiar pressure at the base of his groin. His bulge wetly slid against his thigh, tentatively pressing up against the lip of the indigo’s own nook to test his arousal beneath the towel. It was wet enough to be humiliating given that they hadn’t done much of anything yet- though Charun was faring somewhat better. The start of their bulge was becoming visible, but it seemed their concern kept them from being more serious.  
  
”…You look.. like you’re… a little… scared…” Lidded eyes squinted, brows knitting as they perplexed over the sudden withdrawal of Galekh’s weight. “…Do you… want to stop..”  
  
”No.” He pulled at the edge of the towel and let it fall away. There was a sound of approval from Charun, but the blueblood kept his eyes firmly closed until the tattooed hands returned to the edge of his hipbones.  
  
”.. The branches… with your sign… it’s pretty dope… “ They admired his own tattoo for a few long moments, eventually slipping their hand lower to squeeze his asscheek and let the twisting blue bulge find purchase around their opposite wrist. “Mph—The… the design was mine, but the artist who tattooed it upon me was Mallek Adalov—perhaps he did yours?”  
  
”…. Nah I did mine… heh… it’s my sign… too…” Trying to make sense of that was like, presently impossible, considering the hand massaging his bulge and the one groping his butt were taking up 99.9% of his current thinkpan capacity. Galekh could feel his nook twitching; leaking in excited anticipation down the insides of his thighs. Yellow-green eyes watched the darkly colored fluid creep slowly; the look was filled with hearty satisfaction.  
  
” S’pretty big, huh… you must… usually top …” They said it in almost a joking away as they teased the sensitive ribs of soft flesh along the length of the thick organ undulating along their wrist and forearm. Galekh indeed topped, and Tagora would have it no other way.  
  
Finally, the hand that had been squeezing his ass dropped lower to trace the swell of the dripping lips beneath his bulge. The indigo’s leg twitched and he shifted backwards before his knees buckled. Oh fuck, there was no way he could be so desperate to pail with Charun that he could hardly stand. Maybe it was the performance anxiety? Or the seventeen cups of coffee? Or the fact that he hadn’t fucked outside of the black quadrant in _literally ever_?  
  
”… Sit down… c’mon..” He was suddenly released, drawn over to the window and pressed into the window seat. A warm weight leaned into his side, with the oliveblood ruffling his hair and affectionately thumbing the lobe of his ear.  
  
Hell, they weren’t quadranted- there was no need for this gushy bullshit. Why couldn’t they fuck and get it over with?    
  
As if in response to that thought, the wet slide of Charun’s bulge moved along the outside of his thigh. It wasn’t eager or urgently prodding at him, just a presence. Galekh gently gripped the hand petting his hair and gave it a little squeeze before letting go.  
  
”Would I hurt you if I sat on your lap [I weigh considerably more than you do, so this is predominantly for discretionary purposes]?”  
  
The oliveblood shook their head and shrugged. “… Doubt it… been crushed by… bigger art materials than… you, probably…” So taking that as a nope, he maneuvered himself so they were chest-to-chest (about, anyway, since Galekh had a massive height advantage).  
  
”Tch- one moment. We need to close the curtains.” Certainly didn’t want a drone to get a nice eyeful of how to make cyan on the color wheel, that much was for sure.  
  
He leaned forward and reached upwards, pulling the two heavy pieces of dark blue fabric framing the window together. While he did this, Charun’s hands slipped up along his sides to cup his chest and slowly slide back downward toward the curve of his ass. Their bulge, having temporarily coiled against their belly, was now slowly moving around the base of the writer’s much thicker one. The two organs twined together temporarily, mirroring a kiss between their respective owners, before the tip of the oliveblood’s dipped into the edge of the bulge sheath and followed the swell of deep blue flesh lower.  
  
_Holy shit_ , he was so wet. The shape of Charun’s mouth twisted into a sheepish smile, but Galekh bit into the expression and pressed his teeth hard against the tongue that slid against his lips. That infuriatingly precious snaggletooth opened a hole in his gums, but he could hardly care about the taste of blood when there was that fucking bulge ghosting against the edges of his nook.    
  
The blunt tip pressed past the lips with ease, sliding into the blissfully wet warmth for what seemed like an eternity. It was thinner than his bulge, sure, but it was pleasantly lengthy. By the time the artist bottomed out, the blueblood’s head was buried against their shoulder breathing weakly. The strain of having to wait to be fucked seemed to deflate him, and he seemed more than content with letting the oliveblood do what they wished while he (literally) rode along.  
  
Thankfully, his partner was just about as laid back as they come. Charun’s nose pressed into the side of their commissioner’s neck, kissing his shoulder and earlobe and whatever else they could feasibly reach. There was something specific the troll was looking for, something they would use to affirm whether or not Galekh was enjoying the coupling or otherwise. Their bulge started the slow prod against the canal walls for the soft bundle of nerves right below the blueblood’s seedflap. The area where, undoubtedly, he’d lose his fucking mind if they managed to massage.  
  
Sure enough, a strangled growl from the writer diffused into the rumbling trill of satisfaction. He tried to press flush against the smaller body and grind down on the length undulating inside him fruitlessly- no fucking wonder Tagora refused to top- the feeling of having your nook full was downright _godly_. With one particularly long slide against the tender nerves within him, Galekh nearly sobbed into the artist’s hair. “ _T-the bucket we—need the fuckingbucket—_ “ Charun’s eyes slowly opened, licking the drool from the corner of their lip before squinting over the massive shoulder obscuring their view of the room.  
  
The bigger bucket selected by the blueblood had been placed on the trash tree’s branches, foiling things yet again.  
  
”Nn…. Gotta get up… n’ get the pail… s’on the tree… shoulda… thought ‘bout that… yeah…”  
  
”I can’t… I can’t get up right now _. I can’t_.” Warm breath came ragged against the oliveblood’s forehead while the larger troll quivered atop their lap. They soothed their hands up the broad expanse of muscle along the other’s back with the gentleness of a red quadrant partner. It was slow, and calming, and the opposite of what urging Galekh to move should look like.  
  
”.. S’alright… finish on my lap.. s’no big deal…” The soft touch came up into the thick curls of hair. Charun’s fingers coiled around the two little pine-tree like horns and brought Galekh’s head down to their level for another kiss. It was muffling whatever the blue guy was going to try to whine out, and the thirsty moan against their lips was enough to make their bulge writhe that much quicker against the quivering inner walls of the other troll.  
  
All at once, the indigo released his genetic fluid between them and below them with a mangled cry; his lips crushed against the artist’s, who came into him only seconds later from the sensation.  
  
[♥]  
  
After they’d both showered and relocated to the respite block’s sofabed (the cushion on the window seat was smeared with bucketsworth of viscous deep green and blue ejaculate, there was no way in heck that thing was ever seeing the light of night after today) the couple sat in silence. Charun played their fingers back and forth along the carved hoofbeast heads on the wooden banisters of the sofa, while Galekh scribbled something onto a random journal page he’d grabbed up but hadn’t bothered to flip through. He could be adding this mental dump to one of his fucking novel manuscripts and for some reason, in this very moment, it didn’t _really_ matter to him.  
  
”… Did you carve these.. they’re really.. intricate and shit..”  
  
”No. This furniture piece was inherited.” Their mouth made a little ‘o’ when Galekh’s expression became drawn. “It’s complicated. I apologize; my thoughts are scattered at the moment.”  
  
”No sweat…” Charun’s weight leaned into his side and, unexpectedly, he found himself pressing his cheek against their head in a gentle nuzzle. “… Write on, blue dude…”  
  
”I still owe you for your work.” Suddenly, Galekh pulled himself away. “We never **_technically_** executed the agreed upon ‘smash’ [Your term, which I’m assuming would imply use of the bucket.], thus leaving our deal metaphorically ‘in the air’ [Not using this to justify further hootenanny but, you understand my implications I’m sure].” A finger jabbed at the accursed bucket dangling from the metal pseudo-tree branch.  
  
The oliveblood followed the look, but didn’t seem remotely bothered by the idea of letting this slide. “…Oh, dude...” The snaggletooth jutted into their upper lip while they made a nonchalant expression of disinterest. “… We had.. a solid time.. I don’t need to… like, have the bucket… to have a happy little hookup.. with you..”  
  
”Agreed.” The sound of the pen scratching at the paper resumed. Having the artist’s company wouldn’t hurt for a bit longer- he figured. Might as well use this downtime to work through the mental muck he’d just stirred up for himself.  
  
That, and find a means to prevent Tagora from making this potential red-rom exploitable.


End file.
